


Revival

by venndaai



Series: minask isn't dead [3]
Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Character Death Fix, Gen, Other, Presger Weirdness, Resurrection, Ro2SID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 21:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: "Dead is dead," Sphene said.“It’s just a condition,” Zeiat said. “One that doesn’t mean a whole lot, in the long run."





	Revival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhyolite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhyolite/gifts).



Zeiat knew about suspension pods. There had been one back at Home, that had been taken apart and put back together and given to the Translators to play with. Dlique had gotten into it once and refused to come out for twenty years, which had annoyed Zeiat no end. She couldn’t quite remember if she had been Dlique or Zeiat at the time. Looking at the suspension pod in Sphene’s medical bay, and at the human shape inside it, she thought that Sphene must be extremely annoyed, if Captain Minask had stayed in there for three thousand years. She was about to say so, before she remembered that Captain Minask was dead, and there were different rules for dead people.

“I didn’t really intend for you to see this, Translator,” Sphene said. Only one of her had followed Zeiat to the medical bay, and Zeiat wondered if that had something to do with the argument they’d had earlier, over whether Sphene was multiple people or multiple people were Sphene. “In fact, I’m quite certain I locked that door.”

“Ah,” Zeiat said, contrite. “I, er, apologize. I don’t make a habit of opening locked doors, I assure you, that’s really quite a Dlique thing to do, but I suppose I must have been carried away by how very curious I am about you.”

“I’m flattered by your interest, Translator,” Sphene said, but she moved in front of Zeiat so she was standing between Zeiat and the suspension pod. This didn’t do much to block Zeiat’s view, however. Being tall had its advantages.

“Is this what one is supposed to do with dead humans?” she asked Sphene. “Are they-” she racked her brain for an appropriate word- “-ornamental?”

Sphene sat down on one of the medical beds and laughed, a hoarse reedy sound, for several minutes. Zeiat listened politely.

“Not usually,” Sphene said, once she’d caught her breath. “I ought to have given her a funeral and cremated the body.”

“Why didn’t you?” Zeiat asked. With Sphene sitting down her view of the pod was entirely unobstructed. The human inside looked quite intact, though Zeiat would be the first to admit she wasn’t always the best judge of such things.

Sphene made a gesture with her hands. “Sentimentality, I suppose. Not wanting to accept that she’s really gone. Even after three thousand years.”

Zeiat frowned. “But she isn’t gone,” she pointed out, and pointed at the pod, moving to the side in case Sphene couldn’t see it from the bed. “She’s right there.” She felt her face wrinkle as her frown deepened.

“Translator,” Sphene said, “I enjoy your company, but I would like to enjoy it somewhere else, at the moment.”

“Of course, Sphene, forgive me,” Zeiat said, though she didn’t know what Sphene would be forgiving her for, exactly. It was just something you said.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t think about it again until some time later, when they were playing counters, and she couldn’t help but notice that Sphene seemed to be distracted. “Is something the matter?” she asked, politely.

“You noticed, did you?” Sphene said, eating one of the counters absentmindedly. “Cousin Justice of Toren is trying to get me to take on a new captain. I am trying not to murder her, since I’d probably regret that later.”

“Oh, yes,” Zeiat said hastily, “I should definitely say that murder is a bad idea; it always makes things more difficult, or at least that’s my understanding.”

“Not always,” Sphene said. “But in this case, most likely.”

“Hmm,” Zeiat said. She piled up her red counters in one of the board’s pockets, plink plink plink. Blue on the other side, plink plink. “Do correct me if I’m wrong, Sphene, but aren’t captains one of those things you only have one of?”

Sphene was silent a moment, and then said, “For me, yes.”

Zeiat hummed questioningly. “For you? What about for people who aren’t you?”

“I suppose I had better answer you honestly, or it might cause trouble later,” Sphene said. She ate another counter. Zeiat frowned and slapped at her hand. “Generally speaking, captains are a thing you have one at a time of. Do you understand the difference?”

“Oh yes,” Zeiat said. She did. Probably. “Well then, tell Fleet Captain Breq that you already have a captain and do not want another.” Zeiat was proud to have thought of this solution. She did not want Sphene and Fleet Captain Breq to fight. She thought Fleet Captain Breq was probably trying to be nice.

“I am telling her that,” Sphene said. “It is not working.”

“Well,” Zeiat said, watching Sphene’s fingers- they were creeping towards another counter, and with three gone they wouldn’t be able to fill every pocket, and then where would they be?- “maybe she just wants you to have a more interesting captain. An alive one, possibly?”

“Very likely,” Sphene said.

“Then we should make your captain alive again,” Zeiat said. “Don’t eat that counter or we’ll have to make up a new rule.”

But Sphene’s fingers had stopped moving. The other Sphene in the dining room, the one cleaning the decorative mosaic, had also frozen.

“I can’t,” Sphene said. “Dead is dead.”

“It’s just a condition,” Zeiat said. “One that doesn’t mean a whole lot, in the long run. The, er, what do you call them? Ah yes, the correctives that we sell to you-”

“-can’t fix _a bullet hole in the head_ ,” Sphene interrupted, rudely.

“But they can,” Zeiat said, and smiled. “If you know how to use them properly.”

 

* * *

 

Floating in the gel of the suspension pod, Captain Minask looked a lot like Dlique did, in her pod in Zeiat’s ship, except that the captain didn’t have blood all over her shirt, just a small hole in her forehead that was barely visible, and a rather larger hole in the back. Looking at her, Zeiat felt a twinge of guilt over Dlique, who she really ought to have taken back home by now, but she knew that as soon as Dlique was up and about again _they’d_ send her as Translator to the new Republic, not nobody Zeiat.

A Sphene brushed several floating curls away from the captain’s dark face. Zeiat peeled back the cover of the corrective, and applied it.

“You might not want to watch this part,” Zeiat said after a moment, as a thought occurred to her.

“If you think I’m g-” Sphene began, and then stopped, as the corrective started to work.

Zeiat smiled as she watched. The thrashing limbs and tentacles splashed gel and foam onto her face in flecks.  The Sphene standing at the head of the pod had gone pale; the one on the other side had gone gray. But they didn’t move.

The body in the pod went still.

“Ah,” Zeiat said. “Waaaait for it-”

The captain’s eyes opened. Zeiat peered at her, and then looked at Sphere. “Er, they were that rather striking shade of green before, were they?”

Minask sat straight up, and grabbed the three thousand year old gun still in its holster on her belt. It was covered in foam like the rest of her, and Zeiat thought it probably wouldn’t fire. She watched with interest as Minask aimed first at one of the Sphenes, then at Zeiat, then at the other Sphene. Her hands were shaking and the muzzle of the gun moved up and down.

“She certainly is lively,” Zeiat remarked.

Minask glared at her, and then she sucked in a breath, and turned the gun to point at her own head.

 _“Captain,”_ one of the Sphenes said, in Notai. _“Please. Don’t. It’s me.”_

Minask’s eyes widened, and her arms shook more, though her grip on the gun didn’t loosen and she didn’t lower it. _“Ship?”_ she said. Her voice was deep and very hoarse, though the latter was to be expected twenty seconds after revival.

 _“Yes,”_ Sphene said. _“Please put the gun down.”_

Minask shook her head. _“I can’t,”_ she said. _“I can’t trust anything. I know how bad things are, and I can’t think of a single good reason for me to be alive.”_

 _“If you don’t put the gun down,”_ Sphene said, _“I’ll take it away from you, and I don’t want to have to do that.”_

Minask’s face changed. _“Fine,”_ she said, coldly, and dropped the gun. It landed on the foam-slippery floor and skidded away. There were tears rolling down Minask’s cheeks now; she didn’t seem self conscious about this at all. What an interesting person.

 _“It is me,”_ Sphene said.

 _“All right,”_ Minask said.

 _“It_ is _.”_

_“I said all right.”_

The Sphene that hadn’t talked picked up the gun and methodically disassembled it, very quickly, leaving the pieces on one of the med bay tables. The other one offered a gloved hand to Minask.

She ignored it, and climbed out of the pod herself, leaning heavily on the sides. She’d be dizzy for ages, if what Zeiat remembered of the process could apply to humans too.

 _Other_ humans, Zeiat reminded herself. She was always on the lookout for opportunities to apply what she’d learned about categories.

 _“Walk with me,”_ Sphene said, _“and you’ll understand.”_

 _“I haven’t been introduced to this person,_ ” Minask said, and it took Zeiat a moment to realize that the comment was directed at her.

 _“Hello!”_ Zeiat said, and waved. _“I am Presger Translator Zeiat. Or so I’ve been told.”_

 _“To tell that story would take too long currently,”_ Sphene said, in response to Minask’s questioning look. And to Zeiat, “Someday, Translator, you will have to tell me how you happen to know ancient Notai.”

What an odd thing to say.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Zeiat was in Sphene’s dining hall again, eating fish cakes. Captain Minask was there too, sitting uncomfortably on one of the bare metal chairs, not drinking the tea that the Fleet Captain had offered her, or the fish cakes that Zeiat had offered, either. Oh, yes, and the Fleet Captain was there too, along with Lieutenant Seivarden, and the Sphene that usually could be found on Athoek Station or Mercy of Kalr. Five other Sphenes stood evenly spaced around the walls, their eyes fixed on Minask.

Lieutenant Seivarden was quiet and twitchy. Minask was quiet too, but she had been twitching and shaking less and less with each minute and was now quite still and controlled.

 _“Three thousand years,”_ Minask said.

 _“Approximately,”_ said the Fleet Captain. _“I regret that the galaxy has likely changed quite out of your recognition. I can however assure you that this is your ship, and these are its ancillaries.”_

Minask looked away from the Fleet Captain. Looked at the closest Sphene. _“My ship,”_ Minask said, _“would never take my gun away from me.”_

There was a silence, and then the Sphene said, _“Three thousand years, Captain, can change even a mountain.”_

 _“This is an enjoyable language,”_ Zeiat whispered to Fleet Captain Breq, around a mouthful of fish cake.

“I suppose it is,” Fleet Captain Breq said, in Radchaai. “I’m curious how you know it.”

Zeiat swallowed. “Oh, Fleet Captain-”

“I’m curious about several things,” Fleet Captain said. “Presger correctives have always been able to resurrect the dead?”

“Insofar as I understand the term _resurrect_ , Fleet Captain, yes, though things do get tricky if the subject has been, er, dead, for some time.”

“As far as I know, no one has discovered that property of theirs yet,” Fleet Captain said. “Not the Geck or the Rrrr or any group of humans I’ve heard of. And you’ve taught it to us. Might that not have repercussions for the treaty?”

Zeiat blinked. “Surely not,” she said. “Do you really think so? Oh, that would be very bad.”

There was a buzz, on the edge of hearing. The Fleet Captain turned, and Zeiat did too, putting down her fish cakes. All six Sphenes had raised their armor and moved between them and Minask. Lieutenant Seivarden tensed.

“There are no words for how little I care about the treaty, Cousin,” one of the Sphenes said. “All I care about is that my captain is alive, and she is staying that way.”

“Can you really be so certain,” Fleet Captain asked, “that what you have there is really your captain back?”

“Yes,” Sphene hissed.

“Sphene,” Minask said.

Zeiat couldn’t see her too well through the wall of gray armor, but she heard one of the Sphenes say, _“Yes.”_

 _“It_ is _you.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I won’t hurt her,”_ Fleet Captain Breq said.

There was the longest pause yet, before Sphene said, “You had better not.”

The Fleet Captain inclined her head. Lieutenant Seivarden took her hand off her belt.

“Translator,” the Fleet Captain said to Zeiat, “I would like to further discuss the implications for the treaty- on Mercy of Kalr. If you would oblige me.”

“Well, I’m not sure-” Zeiat began, but the Fleet Captain leaned towards her and whispered, “I think my cousin would like some private time with her captain.”

“Oh,” Zeiat whispered back. “I see, yes, of course. I would be happy to oblige you, naturally.”

“Go already if you’re going,” Sphene said.  

"I do hope I did the right thing," Zeiat said to Fleet Captain Breq, as they walked towards the shuttle. 

Lieutenant Seivarden snorted. Fleet Captain Breq said, "You've certainly made all our lives more interesting, Translator."

"Oh, that's good then," Zeiat said. Interesting was good, usually. _Their_ definition of interesting didn't often line up with Zeiat's, but that was a problem for another day. Right now her problem was she had left all her fish cakes back in the dining room.


End file.
